Thursday, March 5, 2009


This evening I learned of the death of a special friend. He was a mustang quarter horse and his name was Romeo. I met Romy in 2005 when I attended a three-month class called Women's Intuitive Horse Riding at Blue Skies stables in Chapel Hill. Deborah Pearson-Moyers, the instructor, allowed me to follow my heart's desire: to seek, as an adult, the answer to why I had so longed for horses when I was a child. In the most painful years of my childhood, I had an imaginary horse named Ronnie who greeted me at the door when I went outside, and stayed by my side while I roamed the woods beyond my house. In 2005 the deaths of my mother and closest friend left me feeling very much like the frightened child I'd been at eleven. At age 57, I decided to pursue a special relationship with a real horse. I was not disappointed. Romeo welcomed me, nickering softly, the first day I attended class. His wisdom, kindness, and willingness to share his life with me was remarkable during that enchanted spring. Almost every person, child or adult, who met Romeo felt the loving and generous soul of this incredible horse and became a better person for it. I wrote this poem for Romeo four years ago. Rest in peace, dear and treasured friend. I love you.


At the water trough

Once my thirst is gone

I hold my lips

Above the quiet pool

Tasting the coolness there

I carry its peace with me

As you lead me.

Ring of metal, gate’s skirling sweep

The round pen

A circle of earth

Where I may graze.

You have work for me

I can yield, even as I must

Keep watch over my Others

My ears scan the air;

Their hoof beats, their calls;

Their rhythm

All resound

Here in the velvet of my chest

Here where I am tender

Here, where I am strong.

Your fear makes you slumber

And I trick you awake,

Teasing your will

Or make a wall with my Nature

As I graze,

So you cannot enter.

This is often my way.

Today you have come

Singing of love,

Your heart open

The sun streams over our shoulders

You wave the gnats from my eyes

Two-footed handmaidens,

With soft, laughing voices;

We are one.

Once I greeted you at the tall gate

And you were frightened

By the bony crunch of my teeth

But you heard music there

And did not run away

We mingled our breath.

Now I will carry you

Though all your bones are aching

I am your sacred ground

Your heart, beating slowly.

June 13, 2005

Copyright Cathy Larson Sky 3-06-2009

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